


You Know I Mean Stop

by SpiffytheSpook



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anal tearing, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs With Teeth, Cannibalism, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Extremely Dubious Consent, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Mention of - Freeform, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suspension, Therefore, Uncle/Nephew Incest, basically raze becomes a monster and victor didn't plan to monsterfuck, but like, he doesnt mind it much tho, it's fun, not a good sort of teeth, okay. yeah., raze considers victor his uncle, raze establishing that victor's not allowed to rape him, victor basically adopted him, xDDDD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 05:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20615681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiffytheSpook/pseuds/SpiffytheSpook
Summary: Raze stops by Victor's cabin for a fix from Daddy. Victor takes the scene too far, and Raze puts him in his place. They each realize they respect the other. Not that it shows.





	You Know I Mean Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so watch out for the tags. Probably the most disturbing parts are claw-fucking and the teeth around the cock. And the whole incest thing's disturbing for some. Nothing gets bitten off.  
I had this sitting in my document for months and just finished it up today. Now I can forget about it and focus.

_ **"This is my own boogie-woogie, do it just like I tell you. When I tell you to get it, want you to try your best to get it. And when I say stop, you know I mean stop.”** _

_\- Pinetop Perkins, Pinetop's Boogie Woogie_

Three hundred pounds of pure muscle and animalistic ruthlessness. Maybe more than three hundred. Huge, warm, fucking _strong._ Everything Raze needed _right now_.

Enhanced reflexes were a godsend – well, maybe not for Darwinists, but Raze had yet to decide precisely where he believed in god or evolution as the origin of the universe, humans, and subsequent mutations. Who/whatever it was, Raze totally exploited his gifts. In the absence of _daddy,_ little felt better than a massive adrenaline rush from barely dodging trees, almost falling off a mountainside, and flying over big holes in the forest floor, going 100km an hour on a bike twice his own weight. Reflexes made that more than doable.

You couldn’t blame him. Raze didn’t get a lot of time to play, what with trying like hell (like a responsible person) to keep Madripoor together, maintain peace with his crazy as _shit_ brother and bro-in-law, and talk with the other politicians with a nice, clean public face. Given that public face, he couldn’t keep screwing whoever he wanted. Gay was one thing. SHIELD would probably blow a gasket if they got an inkling of what Raze really _really_ liked most.

Fuck, he almost blew a gasket himself. He needed to _control _that sick, _gross_ part of him – the part that would land him in trouble with a _real_ god if one did exist. He maybe needed counselling, but nobody offered that for mutants of his caliber. (Someone had, once. The doc had thrown himself out a window after a week of helping traumatized mutants…not exactly inspiring, not exactly an encouraging example of good mental health.) There was Dr Hank McCoy, but Raze had long ago declined his offer of therapy. For good reason – he doubted the man could handle some of what he had to share…to confess.

_“You know, Raze…if you ever need someone to talk to, my door remains open.” Hank’s eyes were both warm and cautious. Raze was drawn by them, but everything about the Doc drew him in. His chewing slowed to a halt as he looked over the table at the larger blue mutant._

_Raze thought, then swallowed and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll be honest…out of respect. There is little I’m willing to share with you, given my…occupation, conduct and beliefs, and your personal convictions.”_

_Hank sat back ever so slightly, expression becoming more guarded. Very very slight, very minute details…easy to miss, but Raze had gotten to know him. He was trying to not be offended. “I hope I don’t have to explain doctor confidentiality to you?” he said, tone rather kind given the circumstances._

_Raze laughed quietly and shook his head, bringing a small smile to the other’s lips. “It isn’t a matter of trust, Hank. I do trust you, very much. You’re the most honest person I’ve ever met, which is admittedly part of your charm.” He took a sip of water, thinking._

_“Ironic, the things we appreciate about others,” Hank noted. “That said, I’ve certainly noticed your own honesty with me.”_

_“I do try, yes. I’m glad it shows,” he grinned back. “You’ve demonstrated many times in your past that you try to unerringly tell the truth and pursue what is ‘right.’ I trust you most to do that. While I’m sure you could and would put aside your convictions to counsel me, I don’t want to put you in that position. Also…I enjoy our intimate and conversational interactions.”_

_“And you’d hate to put a strain on either of those precariously balanced facets of our relationship,” Hank added with another warm smile. Almost fond, Raze thought as he nodded his agreement. The doctor studied him a moment. “My invitation remains open.”_

_”I promise to take you up on it if I become open to advice.”_

_“Whoever said anything about advice? Sometimes one only needs to be listened to.”_

_“…well…if I’m not deciding on a course of action, then. Maybe…I could tell you the past.”_

Hank was no daddy. Hank was a _friend,_ if Raze would even dare to use that word. He had too much respect for the man to think of him so intimately. He was too _fond_ of him to reduce him to _only_ a friend, either. They weren’t _lovers, _because this was no sweetheart-soulmate-marry-me-in-May deal. Hank needed someone more dependable to share that sort of relationship with. Raze would stick to BDSM and careful, respectful friendship with him.

Daken wasn’t daddy, either – but hell if that wasn’t Raze’s worst nightmare and best wet dream. Brother preferred to top and bottom in turn, or just hold out. His majesty had to be in just the right mood, or Raze would spend an hour trying to play nice, awkwardly fumble with seductive attempts…and sometimes end up just getting frustrated and fighting._ That_ felt classy. _That _didn’t feel like a reflection of their father’s anger at all. _That_ wasn’t totally and completely humiliating in the aftermath.

So who was Daddy? Who was the giant, warm, hellish mass of pure brute strength?

Raze skidded to a stop, some dust kicked up from the quick swerve and break. He swung a leg over, kicked the stand, then pulled off his goggles and helmet and tucked the under the bike’s seat. He left the keys in – there wasn’t a soul up here besides him and Daddy for several dozen miles.

When he turned to walk toward the cabin, he paused. Between the time he’d dismounted and when he turned, the man had come out to stand on his porch. He leaned casually back against the cabin wall, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle crossed over the other. Cold blue eyes stood out on darkly tanned skin, under a mane of blond hair that was getting long again. Hadn’t been trimmed in several days. Raze would have to fix that.

…as soon as Victor Creed’s eyes stopped boring into him like a soul-sucking demon straight from hell. Raze maintained eye contact because he knew what defiance would get him. He also knew Victor didn’t appreciate _pussy_ behavior.

_“Stand up fer yerself, y’piece of shit. Quit snivellin’, ‘fore I break yer nose’n’make ya shine my shoes with yer blood’n’tears.”_

_The boy’s face screwed up as he tried to stop crying. He pressed his hand over his eyes and his mouth contorted in a grimace. He focussed on lowering his heartrate, calming the hormones racing through his veins. When ready, he let his hand drop and glanced up at his uncle._

_“Attaboy.”_

Victor cocked a brow at him. Raze shuddered despite the heat of the leathers he wore – a high-collared jacket, tight pants, heeled boots. He crossed his own arms, taking a wider stance, inclined his chin and cocked his head to the side as if to say, _whatcha gonna do about it, huh?_

A slow, wide smirk spread across Victor’s face – the kind Raze had seen him give women before he raped them, or particularly pathetic men before he ripped their heads clean from their bodies. Worse, the same smirk made its appearance when he decided someone was gonna be _dinner._

Victor pushed himself up off the wall, gave Raze a _look_, and then went back into the house. The shapeshifter stared through the screen door at Victor’s retreating silhouette. His palms were sweaty, feet rooted in place, mouth dry as a dessert.

_“Whatcha waitin’ fer, pup? Thought ya wanted t’play?” Victor hummed smugly._

_Raze stood stock-still. Victor had moved on, but Raze hadn’t followed. He felt like he just _couldn’t move_. “I…I…”_

_The larger, older man snorted. “Y’gonna start stutterin’ again? What are ya, nine? Tell y’what. I’m gonna see yer ass downstairs in **three** minutes, or yer gonna wake up t’find yerself hangin’ from a real high cliff in a few days. Take yer precious time.”_

_They spent hours in the basement, and Raze had phantom pains for days afterward…but at least hadn’t found himself hanging from a real high cliff. _

He followed Victor in once the silhouette was out of sight. He knew where they were going. Not the bedroom – that was just for nighttime. Playtime happened downstairs. Just like at the Darkholme mansion, just like when mom had been alive. Playtime happened downstairs. That’s just how things were.

Upstairs was as cozy and orderly as it was last time Raze visited. The entrance to downstairs in the cabin was a trapdoor under the bearskin rug in the den, in front of the currently unlit fireplace. Victor left the rug back and the door open. Raze could barely breathe and couldn’t feel his fingers as he slowly descended the wooden ladder, getting yet another good look at the smooth grain of the wood.

Victor had constructed most of the cabin by hand. Raze could mock his age and sense of style all he wanted, but he knew that shit like this was what _really_ mattered. The guy had built the house from foundation up. He’d maintained it. The place had to be a century old by now, but it was still top-notch. As he stepped off the ladder and faced Victor, who had flicked on the lights and was now peeling off his dark blue plaid shirt…he finally cast his eyes down. That fucking ladder was older than he was, as Victor had so enjoyed reminding him time and time again. Somewhere along the way, it had stuck. Raze knew _jack shit _in Creed’s presence_._

A troublemaking grin crossed his face, though. Age wasn’t everything, and he knew he was fully capable of flipping the tables on Creed if he needed to.

“Plannin’ on actin’ up t’day?” Victor growled. Apparently the grin hadn’t gone unnoticed. Raze straightened his face out and crossed his hands behind his back, right hand on left wrist.

“No, sir. Never,” he said. Psht. As if he could help himself.

His defiance just turned Victor’s amused smirk into a very _cruel_ one.

_Perfect._

“Strip ‘em,” Victor commanded, voice rough, tone straight-forward and not to be defied.

Raze paused just long enough to earn him _trouble _later, before he peeled back his jacket. He freed one arm, then slipped the sleeve off the other shoulder. He shifted the garment back into his own flesh – the effect looked like it had disappeared into his wrist. He wore no shirt underneath. He maintained his wide stance as he unbuckled a leather belt laid with metal rings, and then undid the zip to his pants.

Victor’s eyes were on him unerringly, and Raze _watched_ him look. He hooked his thumbs into the top of the pants, and slowly, smoothly pulled them down to reveal hipbones barely showing and the sexy V between his abs and hips. He figured the man’s mouth was watering at the smooth expanse of skin – Victor had licked over it many times in the afterglow of a particularly thorough day of fucking. Man got cuddly when he was all emptied out.

Raze rolled his hips as he pulled his pants down and left them sitting just below his ass and crotch. Then, he shifted them away so he was left in nothing but his boots, which hugged his calves tightly.

The older man observed him for a moment, easily half-hard due to the show. When finished his cursory inspection, his eyes met Raze’s again, challenging him to another dominance dispute. Raze lowered his gaze quickly compared to outside.

“Drop.”

He kept his toes propped up when he dropped to his knees, the bone making an unpleasant sound against the cement. It hurt like _fuck, _too, but Raze knew better than to complain. He clasped his hands behind his back as he had when he stood, spread his knees, and sat back on his heels. He kept his spine erect, neck and head in line, but his eyes on the floor in front of him or on his own blue skin.

Even when he heard Victor moving around and knew the man wasn’t looking, he didn’t move from the position. He _needed_ this. Needed the _structure._

He saw the dark brown leather collar when Victor brought it down in front of his head, under his chin. It was a relief to have against his skin, a familiar comfort as the man tightened it enough to strain his air, then buckled it in place. The sound of the tail passing through the loop that held it in place made him shudder. Victor’s hand in his hair, claws gently scraping the scalp, made him relax. There was no praise yet – Raze hadn’t _earned_ any.

His heart raced as Victor stepped away but Raze did nothing to change his bodily responses. That would be contrary to the _point_. He needed to _lose_ his control…at least over himself. He needed someone else to hold the reins.

Victor knew, of course. He always knew what the boy was looking for.

_Kid was refusing to eat again. At first, Victor had chalked it up to tantrums, or ungratefulness. What growing ten-year-old boy doesn’t like a plateful of bacon, eggs and ham? By now, he’d well and figured it out._

_The kid didn’t even flinch as Victor pulled his chair by the seat, as abruptly as he’d done it. Gutsy for the little coward. When Raze was in better reach, Victor picked him up like a featherweight, and plopped the kid down on his knee. Touch-starved little guy never got any time with his ma these days. As much as Victor hated Logan and took plenty o’pleasure in beatin’ the runt’s grandson black and bloody, Raze was part of Victor’s pack now. Groomin’ was out of the question – fuckin’ _strange_ – but Vic could take care o’this a bit._

_“Eat’cher goddamn breakfast, pup,” he told the boy, ruffling his hair. Raze looked back at him, then turned quickly to look at the plate. He thought he’d done it fast enough that Creed would miss his happy little grin. Hah. Kids. Obvious and oblivious._

_Raze started eating. He’d need it with the training Vic was going to put him through later that day._

Somewhere along the way – before they started doin’ this, back when the kid was sixteen or so – Raze had figured out his own need for touch. Victor thought it was amusing at first and placated the kid with the brutal fucking he earned himself through his bitchy behavior. Hell, he _still_ thought it was amusing, but they played different games now that Raze wasn’t going through the teenage hormonal mess stage.

He’d grown up a good deal better than Victor figured he would. He expected the kid to still be a whiny, crying, cowardly disaster in adulthood, to quake in his boots at the mere mention of doing something useful. Kid had surprised him when he’d offed Mystique and proceeded to tackle the X-men with his little band of punks.

Victor had expected the punk band to lose out, but he hadn’t expected Raze to blackmail him into tagging along on a one-way trip to the past – and he’d let it happen, ‘cause what the fuck else did he have to do? Besides, the good old days were _good._ He could wreak some _real_ havoc now, knowing some of the ways shit could go down in the future.

Kid offed his mom _again _when they moved back in time, and Victor had made brutal work of his own former self…there wasn’t room on this planet for two Victor Creeds, after all, and he was a selfish man. Given that he didn’t really _die,_ Raze had tucked younger Creed away in a prison built by some lady architect whose work was just about _perfect._

Victor hadn’t ever told him, but the kid had earned his _respect_. He was a _boss_, albeit a young one who needed more shaping and still made stupid fucking rookie mistakes. Hell, Creed suspected the kid might earn the _Darkholme_ name if he kept up his self-improvement.

Along with the kid’s say…seven…years of personal development after his Ma died the first time, the two had developed a more sophisticated playtime. The kid was no innocent. Victor was a brute who would funnel his energy into tools if it was in his interest. Raze had a way of convincing people things could be in their interest.

He looked over the young man again, thinking of what he’d prefer to use today. The way the kid had torn recklessly through the woods, engine revving loud enough to reach Victor’s ears long before he arrived…aggression, energy, frustration. Kid always wanted it _rough_ when he came to see Creed, but the amount of rough always varied. He smirked slowly. Today, he figured could push Raze’s buttons and past his usual barriers, and get away with it just _fine._

Heh. It was gonna be a real _fun_ time.

Spanking was too gradual, too much of a buzz for today. The belt, whip, flogger – they’d be better, but he didn’t really wanna flay open the boy’s skin first thing. Raze _responded_ better when a bit of mind fuckery happened first.

He turned to one of the walls and took down a red ball-gag, hanging it by its straps over his wrist. He got a pair of earplugs out of a container, then took a heavy black strip of fabric from another shelf. Raze still didn’t look up, though his breath caught and heartbeat picked up when Victor lay the blindfold over his eyes and tied it behind his head. He pushed the plugs into Raze’s ears, causing the boy to tremble.

Victor didn’t take this route often.

He crouched down in front of Raze. The shifter could sense his movement through the air currents moving past his super-sensitive skin. Victor cupped the boy’s chin, smirking with amusement when Raze leaned into his large, rough hand. Touch-starved again. When he pressed the claw of his thumb against the boy’s bottom lip, Raze opened up. Creed pushed the gag carelessly past his teeth. There was no grunt of protest.

From any other pet, Victor would’ve _expected_ displeasure and _wanted_ noise. From Raze, he expected better. He expected the kid to not be a fuckin’ wuss. He expected him to reflect a Creed-Darkholme upbringing – vicious, ballsy, controlled.

“Good boy,” Victor said lowly, as he stood and pet Raze’s wild red hair again. He pulled the straps of the gag back and fastened them securely, as carefully as a rider adjusts their horse’s tack. He and the kid both appreciated the cathartic process. Raze even calmed a bit, heartrate slowing.

Victor fixed that fast.

He hooked his index finger in the O-ring on the front of Raze’s collar and yanked him onto his feet. He dragged the boy to the center of the room, and held him still by the firm, upward tug of his collar. Raze looked perturbed and pulled away – a gesture of rebellion well-placed and expected – but said nothing. Victor yanked him back into place, then reached overhead for a rope already slung through the D-ring on the ceiling. He looped one end through the collar’s ring and secured it in a strong knot, with a spare foot of length dangling from the boy’s neck. He tugged the collar around so that ring was at the back of the boy’s neck instead of the front.

Raze schooled his expression to avoid wincing when Victor pulled the collar around. He’d made it so tight that the movement dug into and tugged at his skin, but any damage (and there would’ve been – bruises, chafing) was taken care of by his healing factor in no time. He shifted his footing uneasily – he couldn’t tell what Victor was doing, but he had a guess.

He wasn’t mistaken. Victor threaded the other end of the rope through another D-ring on the floor, a few feet away from where Raze stood. Then he gave the rope a good tug, hoisting Raze up a foot off the ground. Creed knotted it off to keep the boy hanging in place, smirking as he watched the kid try not to struggle like a fish on a hook while he lost air.

Raze kept his hands at his side, the fingers twitching, even as he felt like the collar was going to make his head pop off. Pressure built in his ears and he started to feel lightheaded. He _hated_ dying of suffocation. But it wasn’t time to fight yet – he could still stay awake with what little he could gasp. He felt Victor move closer and he could hear his heart rushing in his own ears, but nothing else.

Then, Creed ran the palm of one hand over Raze’s stomach. The shifter stilled like a hunted animal, skin quivering. He didn’t even try to gasp for air.

Victor laughed at the response and dug his claws against the skin. He felt and saw the boy’s entire body pull taut and tense, and considered gutting him like this. He’d love to feel Raze’s organs spill into his hands and shift around like the intelligent mass of flesh that it was, trying to return to its shapeshifter owner. He’d love to see the kid’s horrified face again, watch him pale and then vomit into the bloody mess that’d be on the floor.

He wanted to feed Raze’s liver to him again and see if he could swallow it this time.

But…at least not yet. He’d already come up with a plan. Best to see it through.

He let his hand drop from Raze’s stomach. Relieved that it wasn’t time to die or be disemboweled, Raze immediately reached above his own head, seeking the rope that tied his neck to the ceiling. He found it and pulled himself up on it to relieve the pressure on his neck and take several deep, needy breaths through his nose. He kept himself elevated, filling his lungs.

Victor let him.

He grabbed Raze’s chin, long fingers against the boy’s cheek, and Raze moaned around the gag in his mouth. Victor smirked again and smacked him, causing the kid to jerk a bit. 

Raze shuddered, swallowed what he could of the excess saliva that otherwise ran down his chin. He felt rough skin and claws as Victor grasped one of his smooth thighs. The heat of his body settled behind Raze, and another hand ran over his abdomen.

He whined softly, moving his legs back to rub at Victor’s. Soon enough, Creed’s bare chest was pressed against his back, cock rubbing at his ass through denim. Raze tried to press into the attention. Scruff against his neck made him shudder. Suddenly, the flesh of his left shoulder _burned. _Sharp teeth pressed in and blood started to stream down his back. When the scent of it met his nose, his cock finally started to pay attention.

Victor indulged the boy for a minute, letting Raze squirm under his hands and soak up what he needed. Kid wriggled more than a cat. He chuckled and grasped a handful of the redhead’s hair. Raze whined again and arched, rubbing his ass back against the man’s crotch. Victor let go of the boy, stepped out of reach, and pulled a bottle of lube from his pocket. Raze pulled himself higher on the rope and held on with one hand. He reached around for Victor with the other.

Creed grabbed his wrist, claws digging in hard enough to pierce, and pulled Raze’s hand back up to the rope. Raze whined again. Victor dragged his claws down the boy’s arm, over his pit and chest, back down to his abdomen. He listened as the boy’s heavy breathing started up, the scent of fear beginning to fill up the air. Boy knew he could be in deep trouble for reaching desperately like that. Lucky him, Victor was in the mood to play _nice _today. He tore his claws into the Raze’s blue skin, splitting the top layers of flesh apart. It pulled a nice, frightened groan out of the boy. But he spared Raze the loss of his organs – didn’t rip the lining that kept them in.

This time when he let go, Raze didn’t reach for him. Victor shoved two slicked fingers between the boy’s cheeks, rubbing against the tight little hole but not breaching it. Raze moaned, already distracted from the burn of his stomach knitting itself back together. Victor slipped the bottle back into his pocket and unbuckled his belt, opened his pants enough to pull out his cock. He reached for Raze’s hip, holding him in place while he rubbed his fingers back into the slick mess he’d made at the boy’s crack. He shoved the two digits in without care, carrying little lube along with them, and smirk at the pained, muffled cry. The hole was tight and hot around his fingers, dry as it might be. Victor leaned in until his mouth was near Raze’s shoulder so the kid would feel him laughing. He felt the boy shudder, felt him try to relax as Victor scissored him open on his fingers…then he dug his claws deeply into the thin lining, causing blood to flow and coat his fingers.

Raze’s _scream _was one of his favorite things in the world. Logan’s grandson, all ripped apart for Victor’s own pleasure…no matter how many times he destroyed the kid, Raze kept _coming back _for more_._ Sick as all hell. If only James and Daken knew what Raze was to them, and who he called Daddy instead.

Victor grinned against his shoulder again and bit down, this time ripping out a chunk. Raze screamed through the gag, blood spurted from an artery, and he let go of the rope with that arm. His other hand slid down, until he was hardly holding himself up at all. This time, he was in too much pain to focus on being calm. He squirmed wildly as he lost air. Every time he moved, Victor’s claws inside him tore anew.

It was a familiar sensation, but nothing Raze enjoyed. He hated being sliced apart from the inside out. Hated the dizzy, cold feeling that followed when he thought about blood loss. He jerked with the pain of each tear, writhed to try to get away, and all his moving only made it worse. Soon, he was bleeding so much he could feel it running down his taint and dripping off his sack.

Victor yanked his fingers out, causing a whole new cadence of screams. He grasped the boy by his neck and hip, pulled Raze back against himself and held him still, elevated so he could catch a few breaths. Raze swallowed and tried to calm his breathing, to stop crying. When had he started crying? He leaned heavily against the man, starting to calm. The chunk missing from his shoulder had almost healed.

Victor let go of his neck and replaced Raze’s trembling hands on the rope. He clutched it desperately.

He didn’t feel Victor line up. There was no time between that and the thrust that buried the man balls-deep into Raze’s blood-slick hole. All he felt was the _agony_ that burned through him. He tensed like a board, holding his breath, waiting for the white-hot pain to fade. It didn’t. Victor’s fingers bruised him, held his hips still, and the pain only got worse as the man continued to pummel into him and his body attempted to recover.

It felt worse than the first time they’d fucked. Maybe it was the lack of his senses, or all the touching beforehand. Or maybe enough time had passed that he just didn’t remember the first time the same.

Raze couldn’t do anything but grasp the rope overhead like his sanity depended on it. He thought maybe it _did. _Victor lasted a _long_ time and was very skilled…but it didn’t matter how frequently he brutalized Raze’s prostate. The shifter had gone soft at the first tear to his rectum, and nothing was changing that.

He felt the man’s cum spurt into him, hot and thick. It could’ve been satisfying, but Raze… couldn’t find his head. He wouldn’t let go of the damn rope when Victor tried to move his hands. The heat of the man and his huge presence disappeared until he returned, spreading Raze and pushing something…

Something _huge._ Thicker than Daddy himself, who was already _ridiculously _large. Raze had the tip in him, the fake glans of a dildo popping past his rim as easy as you please.

He _snapped._

His body lost shape, and he all but _dripped_ down from the collar. The blindfold, plugs and gag fell to the floor when there were no longer features supporting them. Raze lay on the floor like a puddle for one long moment, getting his mind together. Then he pulled himself up into body shape, turning on Victor.

Victor dropped the toy and towered over him, asserting his dominance with posture and eye contact. He could tell by the rage in Raze’s eyes that he’d pushed the kid too far, but there was still a chance the assertiveness would stop Raze from lashing out.

Raze glared, fully prepared to fight. Instead, he reeled in his temper. He lowered his eyes, sank to his knees. Victor observed him for a moment, then went over and ran his hand through Raze’s hair.

“Good boy. No need to act up, y’see,” he said in a low, soothing voice.

Raze leaned his head and hands against the man’s thighs. He shuddered and then sighed, relieved. Victor continued to stroke his hair, and the two descended into calm silence. After several moments, Raze nuzzled against Victor’s crotch. The man’s dick was still out and lay heavy and soft near his cheek. Raze took it into his mouth and sucked slowly, nursing on it and coaxing the other to hardness again.

When Victor was hard and twitching, when his petting had stopped and he’d tightened his fist to grasp Raze’s hair…the shifter changed his teeth. Multiple rows of narrow, sharply pointed teeth, each row resting _just_ on Victor’s cock, not breaking the skin but absolutely _threatening._

The face Victor made was priceless.

Raze’s expression was cold and hard like ice, like he _knew_ he could get away with the shit he was pulling. He was boiling with anger under the skin. He looked like his damned _mother, _and Victor was suddenly running calculations of how to respond.

“…now look here, boy-”

Raze interrupted with a second head, one with just a neck and mouth to form words. “No. _You_ look _here, _Victor.” The teeth around his cock shifted just slightly, not piercing but keeping Victor on his toes. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not a cocksleeve teenager anymore. You don’t get to use me as a lookalike for mom or a hateful little Wolverine replacement. I’m not your _fucktoy._”

Creed decided silence was the most reliable response. He stared down at the solid yellow eyes of the head that was still on his cock, reading the absolute hatred there. Victor was _aware_ of the tentacles branching from Raze’s body. One curled under his jeans, up his leg, resting very close to Victor’s own ass. Two more were busy entwining themselves around his form, and his arm lengthened into one to caress Victor’s jaw. His fingers melded together and turned into a hook, which pierced through the base of his jaw and came up through his mouth, then connected in a loop to what would’ve been his wrist.

Raze yanked the man down with that loop, his talking head grinning at the panic and hatred in Creed’s eyes, the teeth of his first head still precariously placed.

“You’re _my_ fucktoy, Daddy. You’d better make sure to _never, **ever**_ fuck me with those claws without _telling_ me first, or you’ll get what’s comin’ to ya. Y’got that?” The mouth snapped and Raze’s eyes narrowed.

They glared at one another for a moment, while Victor’s blood flooded his mouth and ran down Raze’s hand. Creed nodded in response. Raze pulled the hook out of Victor’s jaw, making his skin abrasive so it would sting _that much more._ His teeth receded into a normal set, the talking head returned to his body, but he left his tentacles curled around Victor. He pulled off the man’s cock. Raze looked at the blood on his hand a moment before he licked at it, running his tongue from forearm to fingertip. Victor - despite the scare and the pain from the quickly healing wound on his job - couldn’t take his eyes off the boy.

Raze noticed. He swiped up every last blood trail with his tongue, then stood and sucked the fluid from Victor’s neck, too.

_Christ, this kid would be the end of him._ Creed shuddered – a heavy movement, like a leopard’s purr. Raze was right. He wasn’t Mystique. He wasn’t Logan. He was something _else. _Something…worse. And _better. _He was an animal and a monster, wrapped up in a pretty twink’s skin, civilized enough to get away with anything in any society if he really tried. Raze was something between Daken and Victor, and his own brand altogether. Creed entangled fingers of one hand into Raze’s hair.

The tentacles tightened their grip and Raze curled his tongue as he pulled away from Victor’s neck. Creed could feel his breath on his blood- and spit-wet skin. They stared at one another, Creed waiting to see whether Raze would tolerate his control, Raze considering whether to submit and play or just leave the scene.

This was the first time Raze had ever _dared_ to put him in line – he was sick of just _taking_ the extremes that Victor would push. He could push back, and he _did_. He’d established exactly what Victor couldn’t get away with, and Victor had accepted the boundary. But he still had no desire to be in charge today.

Raze blinked and started licking up the side of Victor’s jaw, his tentacles relaxing and moving lazily along the man’s skin. Victor’s grip tightened on his hair and he pulled the boy back, humming in satisfaction at Raze’s hazy expression.

“Yer a good boy,” Victor murmured, and leaned down to nip at Raze’s neck. The shifter sighed shakily and pressed forward against him, his groin against Victor’s leg. “Don’cha _dare_ get smug about this, pup… but I’m proud o’ya. Been proud o’ya for a while now.”

The shifter froze, and hid his head in Victor’s overgrown blond mane. He couldn’t believe it at first – _no one _was proud of Raze. He was a shitstain. But he accepted Victor’s statement – the guy wasn’t _lying –_ and held onto the larger man tightly. Huge, warm, strong. Victor smelled like _home_. Victor was _proud. _


End file.
